


Whatever Happens Tomorrow

by ChasingTheStars



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, F/F, F/M, Minor Anna/Kristoff (Disney), Romance, Tragic Romance, so angsty it should be a crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27194134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingTheStars/pseuds/ChasingTheStars
Summary: Ten years. Two people. One day.Sometimes you can live life without realising everything you’ve ever wanted is right in front of you. This is the story of Elsa and Maren over the ten most important years of their lives, on the same day each year. It’s not who you grow up with that’s important; it’s who you grow old with.Maren had seen her around before – with a face like that, it was hardnotto see her – but, as fate would have it, she never had the chance to introduce herself. That was, until the night before graduation, when an elbow to the face, a bleeding nose and a shared promise would influence the rest of their lives.“Whatever happens tomorrow, we had today; and I'll always remember it.” – David Nicholls, One Day.
Relationships: Elsa/Honeymaren (Disney)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 67





	1. 29th July 2009

"Do I remind you of that night?"

"You remind me of everything that followed.” – Jhumpa Lahiri

* * *

_21 years old_

Midsummer festivals were always a cause of celebration in Norway; people were encouraged to feast, light bonfires and have their merry way late into the warm summer nights. St. Olaf’s Day was one of the festivals Maren observed to fit in with the rest of her classmates. As a member of the indigenous people, Maren had learnt from a very young age how to ‘blend in’ celebrating customs she did not recognise. She was certain, however, that most of the people gathered in the local pub didn’t know much more than she did about its origins; St. Olaf was a king, there was a battle, and for some reason that meant over 900 years later, the student population drank until sunrise.

On a personal note, tonight was very special for her, too.

Tomorrow was graduation day.

Well, technically _today_ was graduation day since it was the early hours of the morning. In less than twelve hours, Maren would say goodbye to student life and hello to the world beyond it. She wasn’t quite sure what that meant; for the last three years, her entire world had been her Sociology course, her flatmates and living life in the city. The only thing she knew was that she didn’t want to move back home. City life had changed her, and for better or worse was yet to be seen.

Any time her thoughts drifted to the future, Maren quashed the rising panic by distracting herself, and tonight it was through the guise of alcohol.

“I’m going to get another drink, does anyone want anything?” Maren asked the table.

And of course, Ryder put his hand up, demanding another beer. She narrowed her eyes at him, but he just flashed her that smile – the smug little shit – that implied he knew he could get away with anything; he was her little brother. The bane of her existence.

She was eight rum and cokes in, so the room had a blurry edge to her field of vision, and her cheeks felt warm. When she sidled up the bar, she squeezed in beside a girl who made her look once, and then look back again.

Maren had seen her around before – with a face like that, it was hard to _not_ see her – but, as fate would have it, she never had the chance to introduce herself. They had friends in common and ran in the same social circles, but Maren didn’t know much about her, other than the fact she was blindingly gorgeous. What was her name - Emma? Elise? She couldn't remember.

Her platinum hair was tied in a braid over her shoulder, and she wore a fitted blue dress with a plunging neckline. Ryder had caught Maren staring at her at the Foam Party a few months previously, and said: _she’s the kind of girl people write songs about._

She was, and that put Maren off. She felt intimidated just looking at her.

But once she started, she couldn’t look away.

Tonight, Maren kept her eyes forward as she ordered another rum coke and a beer for her brother. She was acutely aware that the girl’s arm was brushing against hers. The more she thought about it, the more her mind drifted into territory she acutely tried to avoid; what ifs, missed opportunities, alternate versions of reality. After graduation, she may never see some of these people again. Tonight was her last chance to make a connection, to speak to the girl beside her, to do something before she would regret the _what if_ in years to come.

She should do it. She could do it. She was standing right beside her, for goodness sake. But what should she say? What was appropriate? Would she sound like an idiot? She didn’t want to seem creepy or weird or –

Fuck it. Now or never. It was one of those type of nights.

Multiple things happened at once. Maren turned to start a conversation, but the blonde girl was bending down, reaching for the credit card she must’ve dropped. Maren’s elbow connected with that impossibly pretty face, which sent her flying onto the floor and dropping with a hard _thud_ on her back.

Blue eyes met brown for the first time, and they both stared at each other with open mouths.

And then blood trickled down the blonde girl’s nose.

Maren took off her jacket and fell to her knees. She dabbed at the blood with the sleeve of her jacket as a stream of apologies cascaded from her mouth.

“It’s okay,” the blonde girl kept repeating. After a few minutes, she pushed away Maren’s jacket. “See? It’s stopped.”

It had stopped, but her top lip was still stained red. “Did I break it?” Maren squeaked.

This is not how she daydreamed their first conversation would go. Trust Maren to be the one responsible for ruining a pretty face.

“No, no, don’t worry,” she said, waving it off. Maren had made her bleed, and yet she was the one doing the comforting. “It must’ve reopened an old wound. It happens sometimes, it’s fine.”

Maren wanted to ask what old wound, but her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. She was staring again, she was sure of it, because the vision of beauty, daughter of goddess Freyja herself, was staring back at her with a soft, gentle smile on her bloodstained lips.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Maren said, sounding more confident than what she felt.

She offered a hand, and the blonde girl took it. In fact, she even held onto it a moment longer than it was necessary to pull herself up from the floor. Maren could hear her own heartbeat in her head as they walked to the bathroom together, which was making it hard to think. What should she say? What was she going to say before the bloody nose? Too busy internally arguing with herself, she almost missed the next question.

“You’re Honeymaren, aren’t you?”

Oh. Okay. That was something. Not only did she know her name, but she knew her full name. Maren shortened her name on purpose – one of her strategies to avoid sticking out as an indigenous person – and most people, even her friends, never referred to her as _Honeymaren_. "Just Maren is fine," she replied.

“I’m Elsa."

“Ah, I knew it was something like that,” Maren said without thinking. She winced. “I mean, I’ve seen you around. I think we have friends in common.”

“I believe my sister is friends with your brother,” Elsa replied and, when Maren opened the door for her, she added, “Thank you.”

Awfully polite. Maren had the feeling she’d not be able to swear in front of her without feeling bad about it. Inside the bathroom, the light flickered and there was a sour smell of stale alcohol. Maren retrieved a few paper towels, dampened them under the tap and lifted them to Elsa’s face. She hesitated. “May I?”

Elsa smiled to show her consent.

Maren used careful strokes to clean off the blood under her nose. Elsa watched her carefully, her eyes never leaving her face. Meanwhile, Maren was trying desperately hard not to stare for too long. Those plump lips looked so inviting. She could imagine what it felt like for those large blue eyes to crinkle with glee and light up with joy.

The room felt hot. Maren felt hot. Elsa _was_ hot.

Damn it, she had to stop. The rum was addling her brain, she was sure of it.

“Has it left a bruise?” Elsa asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“No, no. It should be fine.”

Maren couldn’t have lived with herself if it had. She probably would've ran out of the pub and kept running until she reached a place no one knew her name.

Elsa, on the other hand, almost sounded disappointed. “A bruised and bloody nose would’ve made an interesting graduation photo.”

Maren lowered the paper towel. “You’re graduating tomorrow too?”

“I am. At eleven.”

“No way – so am I! What subject are you?"

“Literature. We’re graduating with political and social sciences, so which one are you?”

“Social science.” Maren amended. “Sociology.”

Elsa’s eyebrows pulled together, but her eyes sparkled with humour. “What are you supposed to do with Sociology as a career?”

“Says the person with a Literature degree,” Maren retorted, flashing a smirk.

“Hm.” Elsa’s glanced at the mirror as she observed the state of her nose. Satisfied, she turned to Maren, a hint of a challenge in her eyes. "I'm the first to admit my course was just a glorified book club."

"So, what are you thinking - Librarian, maybe?" She tried to will away the blush that was sure to be claiming her face. "The aesthetic would suit you."

Elsa grimaced. "What, over-sized brown jumpers and large glasses?"

Maren was thinking along the lines of the hot librarian look, but she didn't have the courage to say it. "Something like that."

Narrowing her eyes, Elsa crossed her arms. "Don't most people who study Sociology fancy themselves as amateur detectives?"

"That's Criminology," Maren said, shaking her head. "But you're not wrong. A guy on our course has a serious Arthur Conan Doyle fetish."

"How do you know that?"

"Elementary, my dear Watson." Then, Maren shrugged. "Also, we got him drunk at our society meeting and he confessed it all. And, boy, do I mean _it all_."

Maren watched as easy giggles fell from her mouth, but they were ended abruptly by a loud hiccup. While Elsa blushed in embarrassment, it was Maren's turn to laugh.

"I'm sorry," Elsa said, hiding half of her face. "I'm drunk. Are you drunk? Tell me I'm not the only one drunk."

"We're all drunk; it's St. Olaf's Day," Maren replied. She couldn't smile any wider if she tried.

Elsa pulled a face. "Olaf just reminds me of a snowman my sister and I used to make every year during winter."

"Well, that's adorable." Apparently she no longer had the ability to act cool and collected in front of this girl. Soon, she'd end up confessing her long-time secret crush, with absolutely no form of self-control.

"Hm." Elsa's eyes drifted back to the mirror. "I'm here with her tonight, but she's the life and soul of the party, whereas I'm just the... drinks-getter." Realising what she just said, she cringed. "Sorry. I don't usually ramble."

"That's okay. I like the sound of your voice." Maren held her breath. Did she just - fuck, she was a lost cause. Trying to cover her tracks, she added quickly, "I'm here with my brother and our friends if you'd like to join us?"

Elsa bit her lip and her cheeks reddened. She stared at her with a slight frown, as if trying to work something out. "No, but thank you. For the offer. I think I'm going to head home."

"Can I walk you?" Maren blurted.

They both seemed surprised at that suggestion. It was like Maren had hit her in the face again; they stared at one another with wide eyes and open mouths, as if neither considered it possible they could extend this conversation. Maren waited, her breath caught in her throat. _Please say yes. I might never see you again if you don't say yes._

"Okay," Elsa finally said. "That would be nice." In a lighter tone, she added, "At least I know you can fight off strangers. That was quite an elbow swing on you."

As they left the bathroom, Elsa caught herself on Maren’s arm to stop herself from swaying. Truth be told, Elsa might be swaying on the outside, but Maren was swaying on the inside. Her organs felt like jelly. If Elsa came any closer, they might vacate her body altogether via her mouth, and while she had already punched the girl in the face, she didn’t want to throw up over her too.

They passed Maren’s friends on the way out and Ryder called to them. “Where’s my drink?”

“In the beer keg at the bar, loser,” Maren shouted back, flipping him off with a middle finger.

“Do you know him?” Elsa whispered, ducking through the heavyset doors.

“No, I just love randomly shouting at strangers. It’s my favourite hobby. More of a compulsion, really. I can't help myself.”

Elsa’s mouth formed a perfect circle. “Oh. Well each to their ow–”

“I’m joking,” Maren said quickly. She didn’t agree with blonde jokes because they were sexist at best, but damn. She’d have to be careful with sarcasm around this one. “That was my brother, Ryder.”

“Oh.” Elsa’s face brightened. “Anna’s friend.”

“Is Anna your sister?”

“Yes. I love her but I… worry.”

“Why?”

“She’s so full of love, practically bursting with it. For everything and everyone. She started uni in September, and I’m afraid someone will take advantage of her. Especially since I won’t be around as much.”

The warm summer breeze had been replaced by a cool night air. It hit Maren’s flushed face like an icy splash, making her shiver into her biker jacket. She noticed that Elsa didn’t even flinch at the change in temperature. “What direction are you?” she asked.

Elsa pointed to the right and they fell into step with each other.

“So, why won’t you be around as much?” Maren quizzed. “Big career plan ahead of you?” She tried to keep her tone neutral for the next suggestion. “Moving away?”

“Travelling, while I have the chance.” Elsa looked up to the sky and back down again. “I’m supposed to be taking over the family business soon. My grandfather is retiring.”

“What? Aren’t you a bit young?”

“I suppose, but… my parents are dead, and he wants it to remain a family business.”

She didn’t sound sad, she sounded resigned. Maren breathed out a sigh; she knew what it was like to lose parents, and she certainly knew the pressures that came along with it. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Hm.” Elsa’s eyes found Maren’s, who was captivated by the richness of the blue irises staring back at her. They made her feel seen. Elsa looked like there were lots of things she wanted to say, things she might not have been able to tell anyone before. They hung in the air between them, until she hedged, “It’s why I took Literature, you know. As petty as it sounds, I knew he’d disapprove. But for me, it was a chance to make a choice for myself. I haven’t been able to make many choices for myself.” Elsa winced. "I don't usually talk this much. You must bring it out in me."

Lonely. That’s how Elsa sounded. Not so much in what she said, but how she said it. To think, the girl Maren had always secretly admired from afar, the one who was surrounded by admirers, who was so dazzling she could light up a dark room, was _lonely_. What a strange world it was.

Elsa seemed to interpret Maren’s thoughtful silence as boredom. “I’m sorry,” she said. How many times had she apologised already? “But what’s your plan come tomorrow?”

“Today,” Maren corrected before she could stop herself. “It’s past midnight.” She rubbed the back of her neck as she considered the question she'd been asking herself all day. “I don’t know, really. I’ve never had a plan. I’ve just taken one moment as it comes. One step at a time. The future always felt like a thing that would never happen.”

Elsa paused for a moment before breathing a soft chuckle. “Very poetic."

“You must bring it out in me,” Maren replied, grinning. "But are we supposed to know what we want to do at 21? It feels too soon. I don't feel fully baked yet, and to make such a bit commitment to the future seems... scary. What if I regret it? But what if I regret not knowing? What if I never know?"

She thought her and Elsa were opposites in that regard; Elsa had her future mapped out by the sound of things. A career in her family business, a path that was already laid out for her, while Maren was free to roam; nowhere to go, no idea where to start. The passenger and the wanderer.

Quirking a brow, Elsa teased, "You don't feel fully _baked_ yet?"

"I thought you Literature kids loved a good analogy."

"The key word in that sentence is _good_. A good analogy."

They were walking past Eir Hill; a steep, rocky hill belonging to the university that overlooked the city. Moonlight graced the grassy slopes, making it luminous against the starry sky. Maren saw Elsa stare at it with rounded eyes full of awe. They stopped for a minute, transfixed at the sight.

“Have you ever climbed to the top?” Maren asked.

It took Elsa a moment to look away. “No. I never got around to it.”

Feeling a rush of adrenaline, Maren’s mind went on a fast-track in one direction. She had climbed Eir plenty of times; just last week her flatmates had a picnic at the top. It was a tradition for the university students in the area; a rite of passage. Oslo, with its sloping mountains and lowly valleys was best observed from the top. Maren had the urge to give that to Elsa; one more flight of freedom before graduation. She grabbed the blonde's hand and pulled her towards the gate. “Come on, then.”

“What?” Elsa pulled back. “We can’t – it’s too dark – it’s too –”

“Dangerous?” Maren wiggled her eyebrows. “The way I see it, it’s a night of firsts and lasts. Our last night as students. Our last night of freedom before the adult world crushes us into submission –”

“I must be bringing out the poetry in you,” Elsa muttered.

“But it’s also a night of firsts. We’ve never talked before. I’ve seen you around and I’ve wanted to introduce myself, make a good first impression, get to know you.” Maren was feeling brave. “I never thought I would, I thought I lost my chance, and here we are. I also never thought I’d almost break your nose – but the point is, come on. Now or never.”

Elsa chewed on her bottom lip. She looked down at her shoes, which were definitely not fit for climbing. She looked at her dress. Maren could tell that the _yes_ was on the tip of her tongue, but her logic was winning out.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “Or today, but later. After graduation.”

Maren was taken aback. “You want to hang out after graduation?”

“If you don’t have plans,” Elsa added quickly. She leaned into Maren; another challenge in her stare. “You said you wanted to get to know me. So, get to know me. Make up for lost time. Tomorrow.”

“Today,” Maren corrected instinctively, hating herself for it.

Elsa rolled her eyes. “What’s your answer?”

“Yes,” Maren answered, no hesitation. “And if it goes well, maybe we’ll get to know each other _tomorrow_ , too. Or the day after.”

“What was it you said?” Elsa said with a shy smile. “You take the future one step at a time.”

Maren’s eyes flicked to the moon drenched Eir Hill. “Right. One step at a time.”


	2. 29th July 2010

“We cannot tell the precise moment when friendship is formed. As in filling a vessel drop by drop, there is at last a drop which makes it run over. So in a series of acts of kindness there is, at last, one which makes the heart run over.” – James Boswell

* * *

_22 years old_

“Have you seen her pictures? I’ve seen her pictures. That one of the Taj Mahal? Oof. The sunset and the reflections and everything – oh, do you think she got that tattoo she was talking about? I hope she did, it means I can get one and she can’t get all snarky with me. Do you think she’s brought us presents? I told her I liked the –”

“Anna, breathe,” Maren said, trying her best to stay calm. She was already anxious, and Anna had been rambling excitedly for the last half an hour.

“Yeah, sorry, you’re right. It’s just, Elsa hasn’t been away for three solid months before.” The redhead held up her left hand and shrieked. “I can’t wait to show her my engagement ring!”

Yes – the engagement ring. The reason why Elsa had cut her recent travels short by a month.

Maren quickly learnt that being friends with Elsa also meant being friends with her younger sister, Anna. At the beginning, this hadn’t been a problem. Maren and Anna got along like dynamite, as in, Elsa would take bets for who she would have to fuss over the most, and who would drive her insane first. For the last six months, Elsa had been travelling on and off to distant countries – places Maren could only dream of visiting. During the short bursts of travelling, Maren stepped in as Anna’s older sister; she listened to the redhead’s university stories, how her course was going – and even went on nights out with her. Maren felt like she was reliving some of her university days through Anna, and Anna felt closer to her older sister with Maren around as a substitute.

Then Elsa had booked a two-month excursion around Asia, which she promised was her last trip. It happened to come after a particularly gruelling conversation with her grandfather, and it didn’t escape Maren or Anna’s attention that this was Elsa, once again, trying to run away from the inevitable: taking over the family business.

An agreement was reached: the next time Elsa landed in Norway, she would take over from her grandfather, who would then retire.

The two-month trip turned into four months. However, during Elsa’s third month in Asia, somewhere between Jaipur and Chennai, something happened back home. 

Anna got engaged.

It was unexpected and very sudden. Anna had met a guy called Hans at a party and a month later he proposed. With Elsa absent, Maren was the one who had to question the engagement, primarily through the lens of: _what the fuck?!_

They barely knew each other. They were nineteen. It was crazy. It was more than crazy – it was dangerous. Not knowing what to do (her own brother, Ryder, had problems just speaking to girls, so she didn’t need to worry about him getting engaged any time soon), Maren waited for Anna to tell her sister before talking about it with Elsa herself. Elsa wanted to come home straight away, and Maren wasn’t going to discourage her.

Despite the fact that Anna had only been engaged to this mysterious Hans for a few weeks, she’d been acting odd. She never answered calls or texts anymore, and she didn’t want to go to university parties. Even now, Anna only responded to Maren’s texts because she knew Elsa was coming home and they wanted to pick her up from the airport together.

Something was suspicious, and Maren trusted Elsa would get to the bottom of it.

Beside her, Anna let out a high-pitched squeal. “I think that’s her!”

Sure enough, Maren spotted the platinum blonde hair amongst the crowd leaving Arrivals. She was wearing a white linen shirt and shorts, with a pair of sunglasses perched on the top of her head, ruffling her fringe. Anna ran at her sister at full speed, wrestling her into a bear hug. Maren took her time walking over, wanting to give the sisters a moment of privacy. She shouldered Elsa’s bags and stood to the side while Anna smothered the life out of her.

Elsa caught Maren’s gaze over Anna’s shoulder. Her smile was so bright that Maren felt it pierce a piece of her soul. Damn. She’d missed that smile.

Over the past year, Maren and Elsa had been inseparable. For the first six months, they saw each other nearly every day. When they didn’t see each other, they called one another every night to share the most insignificant details about their lives. Maren had had best friends before, but this was something else. Something more. She felt like there was an invisible string connecting her to Elsa, and whether it was pushed or pulled, Maren would hold onto it and follow it wherever.

During the course of her travels, Elsa wrote long emails sharing her experience abroad. Maren kept these saved on her desktop and read them over again when she was particularly missing her. Elsa had a way with words; each sentence felt like pure poetry. In response, Maren’s emails were short and sweet, only detailing the headlines and never the content of her life.

In truth, Maren felt lonely. She’d gotten used to the constant socialising that came with student life, and now her friends were living their own lives in full-time jobs, different countries or with significant others. Arranging something as simple as dinner became a mammoth task with shifting schedules and responsibilities. It felt as if she was living a daydream sometimes, where she knew she had friends and people who cared about her, but they were nowhere to be seen.

“Anna, you’re hurting me.”

Reluctantly, Anna pulled away from her sister but didn’t let go. “Are you okay? Are you well? How was your flight? I’m sure you’re tired –”

“I’m fine, Anna, I’m fine. Why don’t we go somewhere we can chat?”

“I’ve booked us a table in Kaffe Nord,” Maren said. “Your favourite.”

Elsa’s eyes lit up, and it made Maren’s chest hurt so much that she had to look away _. She’s staying_ , she reminded herself, _no more adventures._ She knew it was selfish; Elsa staying meant that she had to commit to a job she didn’t want, but at least she would be around. At least she could have a part of her.

Maren carried the bags while Anna hung onto Elsa’s arm as they walked to the car. She watched the sisters chat with some interest; when Anna showed Elsa her engagement ring – an emerald surrounded by small diamonds – Elsa gave a neutral half-smile and glanced back at Maren, who didn’t know what else to do than shrug.

Once in the car, Anna kept chatting at an incredible speed and Elsa passed her phone to Maren so she could flick through travel photos. Elsa, herself, was rarely pictured; she had taken snaps of everything and anything, including her food and hotel rooms, but only a handful of pictures featured the girl in question. Maren found herself flicking hastily through them, only stopping when she saw Elsa’s face.

“Well? What about you? Did you have any romantic flings on your trip?”

Maren froze to listen. When she looked up, she saw Elsa’s eyes roam to her in the rear-view mirror.

“No,” she said after a moment. “I was sightseeing. I didn’t do much else.”

It wasn’t Maren’s business; Elsa’s love life had nothing to do with her. They were just friends. However, that didn’t explain why her shoulders relaxed and she went back to Elsa’s photos upon hearing the news feeling lighter than before.

“Aw, that’s a shame. Oh, but I can’t wait for you to meet Hans! You’re going to love him.”

Maren tried to cover up a frown. As Elsa would say: hm. Maren hadn’t met him yet, and she already disliked him.

Kaffe Nord was a small café on the outskirts of the city. Stringed copper lights and plush leaves covered the whole ceiling, making the atmosphere feel tropical and wild. The chairs and tables were mismatched, and the walls held paintings of times long past; of fallen kingdoms and wild lands.

They were shown to their table and given the menus. Maren had been here before with Elsa, but the prices were still hard to stomach. She wasn’t sure she could even afford water here. She looked for the cheapest thing on the menu – a black coffee – and settled on that. But Elsa knew her too well. Money was something the pair rarely discussed – mostly because Elsa’s family had so much of it and Maren so little. When the waiter asked for their orders, Elsa ordered for her (smoked salmon and scrambled egg, her favourite) and refused to listen to any of Maren’s protests.

“You know I hate it when you do that,” Maren muttered as the waiter took their menus.

“And I haven’t been able to do it for months, so, as my sister would say, _boo hoo_ ,” Elsa replied with a mischievous grin.

Anna’s phone was sitting on the table, another habit she’d gotten into since meeting Hans. Her hand drifted towards it as she asked, “Does grandfather know you’re back, Elsa?”

Elsa paused. “He knows I’m coming home this week. I may have neglected to tell him I’d be back today.”

“He’s been asking for you.”

“I’m sure he has.”

Maren learnt that Elsa had a difficult relationship with her grandfather, Runeard, quite soon into their friendship. She was always nervous when he called, reluctant to tell him personal information. He was a businessman through and through and had little time for much else. Out of the two sisters, he favoured Anna, the grandchild that reminded him of his son – their father, Agnarr. Elsa, on the other hand, was marked as the child that resembled their mother, Iduna, who happened to be indigenous like Maren. Runeard had always disproved of the marriage because of Iduna’s heritage but remained civil for the children. When Agnarr and Iduna died, the first thing Runeard did was send Elsa, the so-called heir of his business, to boarding school, hoping to toughen her up. In reality, the separation had caused both sisters distress.

Since then, Runeard was overly critical of Elsa and managed to find fault in everything she achieved. Maren hated him. More than that, she resented him, and people like him. While the divide between the indigenous people of the northern countries and the modern establishments had always been difficult, everything divisive was represented in Runeard Arens; intolerance, judgement, and ignorance.

Anna’s phone began to vibrate on the table. She jumped up as if it had electrocuted her. “Oh, it’s Hans! He’s outside waiting to pick me up.”

Elsa’s eyes narrowed; a frown set on her lips. “So soon?”

“He misses me when I’m gone for too long.” She leaned over the table to capture her sister in another hug. “But we need to catch up, properly. Tomorrow? I’m free in the morning; Hans is working.”

Anna’s subtle implication was clear _: I’m free when Hans is busy._

“Yes. Okay.” Elsa was trying to hide her disappointment. “I’ll text you later.”

Maren watched her carefully as Anna left before the food had even arrived. Elsa was very still, which usually meant there was a hurricane of emotion inside. She waited until they were alone before approaching the subject.

“When are you going to talk to her?”

“I don’t know,” Elsa confessed. “I don’t want to talk about it too soon because I don’t want to sound overly critical. But you were right. I don’t trust this Hans character. I’m glad I came home to keep an eye on things.”

Maren sighed. “I’m sorry. I feel like I should’ve done something sooner.”

“This is in no way your fault, Maren.” Elsa grabbed her hand on the table and squeezed it. “You’ve had your own problems and your own life.”

The waiter returned with three dishes. As he put them on the table, Elsa and Maren awkwardly let go of each other’s hands. Anna had ordered a salad, so the two girls split it between them to avoid it going to waste.

“Tell me about you. How’s your family? Your job?” Elsa prompted.

“Family is doing well,” Maren started. “I saw Aunt Yelena last week. The reindeer calves are healthy this year. As for Ryder, well” – Maren shook her head, exasperated – “he dropped out of college to start his own business venture. Carpentry. Dad was the community carpenter, and he fancies himself taking over from him.”

“That’s great. I hope he does well.”

“For his sake, so do I.”

Maren tried her best to look indifferent. “As for me, I’m still working in the shop.”

Maren had been working in the corner shop for almost a year now. The job was soulless; shift work, difficult customers, mind-numbing repetition. If someone had told her at eighteen she would waste away three years at university to work a dead-end job she could’ve done without the private tuition, she wouldn’t have bothered with it. But since the economic crash, none of her friends had managed to find decent jobs once they graduated. They were stuck, waiting for experiences to materialise out of thin air. By the sounds of things, it wasn’t about to get any better, either.

Whereas a year ago, the endless freedom Maren felt had scared her, this year she was scared of getting stuck forever. She worked with people who dropped out of school; fresh-faced and sixteen. But she also worked with people in their thirties and forties, who had recently lost their jobs or never managed to move on. What if Maren lost track of time too? What if she was working a till for the rest of her life?

“That job is no good for you,” Elsa said to her food.

Maren felt a prickle of defensiveness. “It’s hard out there, Elsa. With no support, no connections. People do what they have to – no one deserves to work full time on minimum wage and still struggle to pay rent.” 

The words had slipped out before she could stop them. Elsa looked up, alarmed. “Maren, if you need help –”

“I don’t, it’s fine,” she said sharply. “I was making an example.”

An awkward silence settled between them. This was exactly why Maren never brought up money. She tried to think up a joke – something to lighten the tension – but anything she thought of felt too forced. After another minute or two, Elsa was the first one to speak.

“I hear from Anna that you’re, um…” Elsa paused, sitting perfectly still. “You’re seeing Ingrid.”

Maren heard ringing in her ears as blood rushed to her head. It was her turn to freeze, hoping to come across as natural. Unbothered. Totally apathetic. “Oh – uh, sort of. A bit.” _Good job_ , Maren chided herself.

“A bit?”

Damn it, why did she sound so… tense?

“Yeah, you know, it’s not serious or anything,” Maren said, hating herself. Ingrid openly said the ‘l’ word, openly praised her, openly showed that she cared. Maren _felt_ something for Ingrid, she just wasn’t sure what it was. She didn’t want to label it, didn’t feel the need for labels. They were still young, weren’t they? There was no need to commit to anything yet. Plus, there was the elephant in the room between the two people currently sitting at the table.

Elsa and Maren almost had something. Together. Before she left to travel the world. Now, it remained unspoken between them as something that was felt but never mentioned. While Elsa was away, Maren met a girl through a mutual acquaintance and without consciously meaning to, had stumbled into a relationship of sorts. An arrangement. A regular arrangement where they saw each other twice a week, exclusively.

Of course, Maren’s heart held onto the possibility of Elsa. Right now, though, neither of them were in the right place. Maren was struggling to adjust to the world of work, an adult relationship with a girl she liked, and finding her own place in the world. As such, Elsa was on her own path. Elsa, who still wasn’t sure if she liked girls, boys, both or _anyone_ – whose grandfather would most definitely disapprove of a partner that wasn’t white, male and successful.

So, no. Not now. And that was okay.

“I’m glad,” Elsa said, looking up. She looked genuine, too – she always looked so genuine. “I’m glad you have someone.”

But the guilt rising up Maren’s stomach was too much to handle. “Listen, Els, you were away and I –”

Elsa held up a hand. “You don’t have to explain. It’s fine. I understand. We’re best friends, right?”

For some reason, that unsettled Maren even more. In an overly cheery tone she said, “Right. Sure. Best friends.”

To make matters worse, Elsa beamed. Maren knew she didn’t allow herself to look so at ease, so happy, with many people. It was a look reserved for her and Anna. It made a breath catch in Maren’s throat, and she looked down at her food with a slight turn to her stomach.

“I missed you,” came the response.

Fuck, Maren was about to lose it altogether _. Ingrid means nothing to me,_ she was about to say, _I would dump her tomorrow if I knew it bothered you. I would wait forever until you’re ready._ But no, she couldn’t. It wasn’t fair – to either of them.

So, instead she replied, “I missed you more.” Hoping it would push down everything she was feeling. You know what would stop her from saying something she’d later regret? Alcohol. Maren put down her cutlery and placed both of her hands on the table. “What do you say we finish up her and get some drinks, eh? Just you and me, making up for lost time.”

“Maren, it’s not even three yet –”

“Since when has that stopped us?”

Elsa bit her lip and shook her head. “You are _such_ a bad influence.”

* * *

Since it was St. Olaf’s Day, the pubs were packed with people and they were _loud_ – Elsa and Maren only lasted a few hours flitting between their favourite haunts before packing it in and making their own way. They ended up at the local bonfire in the city park.

They got their drinks from the pop-up bar and sat on wooden logs facing the gigantic fire. Sitting side by side, gently brushing against each other, Maren felt a deep sense of ease settle in her chest. This felt right – having Elsa by her side again. She’d missed this more than she’d known. She raised her glass in the air at clashed it against Elsa’s. “Here’s to us,” she said. “We’re amazing.”

Elsa’s eyes sparkled. “That’s why they call you modest – and when I say _they_ , I mean me. Sarcastically. Since there’s no one else here.”

Oh dear. Maren patted her shoulder. “Got that, shortcake.” She put an arm around her instead. “But we are amazing, and we deserve the world, you know? We’re good people. We’re smart. You’re gorgeous, everyone says so.”

“Everyone meaning you.”

“No, we’re popular –”

“With ourselves.”

“I’m glad we agree.”

Elsa nodded slowly. “So, the mood tonight is somewhere between mutual appreciation and sheer narcissism, got it.”

“Hide your mirrors,” Maren joked. Elsa almost pushed her off the log. “Speaking of narcissism, I want a selfie. Isn’t that what the cool kids are calling it these days?”

Squinting, Elsa looked her up and down. “Did you get that from my sister?”

“Yeah, you know I’m not cool enough to know these things myself.”

Maren got out her phone and tugged Elsa around the other side of the log, so the bonfire would make a nice background. Elsa posed for a total of two seconds, before she put her hand in front of the screen and started whining. Maren tutted. “If anyone else had your looks, they’d never stop taking photos of themselves.”

“I could say the same to you.”

Maren looked up from her phone, a smirk pulling at her lips. “Was that a compliment, Miss Arens?”

Elsa started blushing. She turned back to the fire. “Shut up.”

“Oh – and she’s using feisty language tonight.”

Elsa was so easy to tease and her humble embarrassment always made Maren’s heart swell. She looked at the photo of the two of them and it was _beautiful_. The soft orange glow of the bonfire, Elsa’s hair fluttering in the wind – even Maren, herself, had captured the ambience of the spectre.

The band started to play a folk edition of a popular song. Maren saw Elsa’s foot tap to the beat. She took Elsa’s glass and put it on the grass beneath them, then took her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Dance with me,” she said.

Elsa, half-smiling, laughed and pushed her away. “You know I don’t dance.”

“I know you pretend you don’t like dancing.”

“Maren, no one else is dancing.”

“Great – more room for us!”

Maren twirled Elsa around, which made the blonde girl give a high-pitched yelp. They held onto each other as they swayed to the rhythm of the music in front of the bonfire. The occasional embarrassed laugh fell from Elsa’s lips and Maren thought it was the sweetest sound.

The song ended and Maren spun Elsa around once more. Elsa, obviously feeling the effects of the cider, nearly slipped on the grass. Maren caught her with one arm, and Elsa settled there, resting against her hip, bodies flush together.

Maren caught herself in Elsa’s eyes. Until Elsa, she never knew how the colour blue could be warm as well as cold. After a moment, she whispered, “Please never leave again.”

Elsa’s nose twitched, but she didn’t let go. “You know me, with my flighty tendencies. That’s a big ask.”

“At the very least, please never leave _without me_ again.”

“That I can aim for.”

They awkwardly pulled apart and went back to their seat. Maren watched Elsa take a long drink of cider and asked what she’d been avoiding. “Speaking of being flighty, when are you going to talk to your grandfather?”

Grimacing, Elsa shrugged. “Tomorrow. Maybe the next day. Whenever I can’t put it off any longer.”

“So… you’re saying that you might be grateful if I find suitable ways to occupy your time?”

Elsa quirked an eyebrow. “What would I do without you, Honeymaren?”

It was Maren’s turn to blush. “Let’s promise never to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I wasn't expecting there to be such a good response to this concept. Thank you so much! 
> 
> I will update as regularly as I can. Every comment/kudos means the world. 
> 
> Cx.


	3. 29th July 2011

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: emotional manipulation and coercion.

“She was afraid of these things that made her suddenly wonder who she was, and what she was going to be in the world, and why she was standing at that minute, seeing a light, or listening, or staring up into the sky: alone.” - Carson McCullers

* * *

_23 years old_

Elsa wanted to look anywhere but the mirror. She didn’t recognise the person wearing her eyes.

Her purple suit was paired with an open chiffon blouse, and her hair was tied back in a tight bun. Her grandfather didn’t like signs of femininity in the workplace, and so, Elsa had to maintain a sharp silhouette at all times. She did, however, allow some hair to fall over her face; rebellions were small in the Arens household. 

Over the past year, Runeard Arens had personally trained his granddaughter to take over the family business. Arens Architects had existed as Norway’s most successful architecture business for sixty years, and Elsa was certain it was going die in her hands. While she had a keen eye for architecture and design, when it came to management and business, she felt very small in a male-dominated field. Sure, she had encountered mild sexism before just by being a woman, but in the workplace, Elsa experienced blatant sexism. She was routinely talked over, interrupted, patronised and underestimated. Not only was it making her bitter, but it was starting to wear-down her optimism and patience. In life outside of work, Elsa could be snappy and restless because she was so used to constantly battling to be heard and willing people to just _trust_ in her opinion.

She was tired, and only partially because of the lack of sleep.

Tonight, her grandfather had arranged a family dinner that would act as the official ‘handover’ of the company. After tonight, Runeard would completely step away from Arens Architects and let Elsa take the reins. While this was a cause of celebration, Elsa felt a deep pit in her stomach - her grandfather had something else planned for this evening.

He had set her up with a date.

Now that he had successfully controlled her career, Runeard seemed intent on controlling her personal life too.

His name was Gunnar Weselton, the son of Duke Weselton; an old-time partner of her grandfather. He was an accountant, apparently; heir to the Weselton firm, and Runeard believed he was a handsome match for his eldest granddaughter.

Elsa’s opinion, of course, didn’t matter. She would meet Gunnar tonight whether she wanted to or not, and she would have to pretend to enjoy herself to appease him. A long time ago she learnt that her feelings were worthless profit to the businessman Runeard Arens.

Elsa heard her phone vibrate on the bed. Honeymaren’s name lit up the screen. Sighing, she accepted the call. “Mare, what’s up? I’m about to go down to dinner.”

“I know, I know. I just wanted to check in.”

Elsa frowned; she knew that tone. That was the voice Maren used when she wanted to talk about something. “This is about Ingrid, isn’t it?”

Ingrid had asked Maren to move in with her a few weeks ago. When Maren asked for her opinion, Elsa agreed that it was too soon; the pair had only been seeing each other for little over a year, and it was patchy at the best of times. This resulted in a huge argument between Maren and Ingrid, over 'what they were' and 'where they were going' - the latter being a topic Maren regularly avoided. 

Maren then confessed to Elsa that she was planning to break up with Ingrid – she just didn’t know how. The friends had many conversations about it, to the point where Elsa was willing to do it for her if she kept putting it off. Maren wanted to do it tonight but had sent Elsa dozens of texts throughout the day convincing herself she couldn’t go through with it.

“Maybe I could do it next week?” Maren said breathlessly. “I don’t have to do it now. Maybe she’ll break up with me first? How can I make _her_ break up with _me_?”

Elsa rubbed the bridge of her nose. She loved Maren, with all her heart, but the circling conversation was driving her insane. “Mare, I know this is hard, but I’ll say what I’ve said the last few texts: if it feels right, do it. If you make up, fine. If it goes badly, call me and we’ll sort it out. But you can’t keep procrastinating a break-up.”

She heard Maren sigh. “I hate it when you’re wise.”

"Then you must hate me all the time."

There was a triple knock on Elsa’s door and Anna’s voice called, “Elsa, everyone’s waiting for you downstairs.”

Wincing, Elsa called back, “Thanks, sis. I’ll be down in a minute.” To Maren, she said, “I have to go.”

“I hate it when you say that,” Maren muttered, making Elsa’s heart flutter. “But okay. Go. Try not to start another family argument.”

Elsa let out a soft laugh. “No guarantees. Okay. Love you. Bye.”

“Love you too. Talk later.”

Instinctively, Elsa put the phone in her pocket; she could imagine the look her grandfather would give her if it went off during dinner and, knowing Maren, it was likely that she would call too soon. She couldn't afford confrontation, not tonight. So she set her phone on the bedside table and hoped no one needed her in an emergency for the rest of the evening. 

And, taking her own advice, she told herself she couldn’t put this off any longer. She descended the stairs to the dining room, one step at a time. It felt as if she were walking into a lion's den. 

It was a small family gathering consisting of Runeard, Anna, Gerda; a family friend, and Gunnar Weselton; the date. Gunnar was of medium build with brown hair and brown eyes; an average-looking guy with big, intimidating energy. His restless eyes found Elsa’s as she entered the dining room, and he stood up as if standing to attention. His gait was wide, his posture unyielding, and when he took her hand, he held onto it firmly, as if this was a business transaction and he was trying to bully her into a deal.

“Elsa, this is Gunnar, who I was telling you about,” Runeard said. “Handsome fellow, isn’t he?”

Gunnar eyed her for a response.

Elsa gave a tight-lipped smile. “Exactly as you described, grandfather.”

“And my granddaughter is a looker, Gunnar, no?” Runeard prompted. He added in a lower tone, “Although, I wish she would smile more. That’s what I keep telling her.”

“Truly beautiful, Mr Arens,” Gunnar replied with a slight nod.

Compliments to Elsa were like adding another glass of water to a bucket that was already full; after a certain number, she stopped listening to them and believing in them a long time ago. People used compliments to manipulate, to comment on the superficial. Since she was twelve, people always felt the need to comment on her apparent beauty; it was something to keep up, maintain, and if she had a day she didn’t feel like taking care of herself, people had to comment on it, as if they owned a piece of her. _You'd be prettier without make-up_ , they'd say. _You'd be prettier with make-up._ And then there was the way some people _looked_ at her, like she was an emotionless object to be won or bought; a trophy to claim. Elsa wanted someone to say: hey, you’re really smart. Hey, you’re really creative. But no, anything she achieved paled in comparison to the one thing she couldn’t control: her looks.

In a perverted sense, she preferred her grandfather’s insults. At least they had an honest intention.

Gunnar pulled out a chair for her at the table, but Elsa had already chosen to sit beside her sister. The subtle rejection didn’t go unnoticed by Runeard, who cleared his throat loudly. Anna and Elsa shared a single glance of solidarity. If her younger sister wasn't there, Elsa didn't know how she'd get through this. 

“I want to start with a toast,” Runeard said, holding up a wine glass. “To my granddaughter, Elsa, and more importantly, the legacy of Arens Architects.” His gaze landed on the elder Arens sibling. “May the company prosper under your leadership.”

The glasses _clinked_ and Elsa pretended to smile. Across the table, Gerda was sniffing into a tissue.

“Your parents would be so proud,” she said. “Of both of you.”

“Aw, Gerda, don’t cry,” Anna soothed.

Gerda brushed it off. “It’s just times like these I think about them.”

“Yes, yes, but we’re thinking of the future tonight, Gerda, hm?” said Runeard. There was a finality to his voice; it invited no arguments. “Speaking of the future, how is your university studies going, Anna?”

It took Anna a moment to switch gears in the conversation. She looked from Elsa, to Gerda, and then back to their grandfather. “It’s going great, grandpa. I passed all of my History modules last semester.”

“Excellent. I’m glad the trouble with that boy didn’t interfere with your grades.”

Anna stiffened at the mention of Hans. The ‘trouble’ Runeard referred to was grossly downplayed; after the inevitable break-up, Hans had stalked, harassed and made Anna’s life a living hell until the university got involved. Runeard wasn’t supportive, or present, through the entire ordeal. It was Elsa and Gerda who had warned Anna about Hans’s controlling behaviour, and they were also there during the fallout of the consequences. Anna, a girl who loved love, was now scared to love at all. Elsa bristled at her grandfather’s words, especially bringing it up in front of a stranger, and immediately came to her sister’s defence.

“Anna has excelled this year,” she said. “She was elected as secretary for the History society.”

Runeard didn’t react. He only tapped the rim of his wine glass. “Weren’t you the president of something at university, Gunnar? Your father never ceased gloating about it.”

Gunnar inclined his head. “I was the football captain, sir. My team won the cup three seasons in a row.”

“Very impressive,” Runeard said. "What position did you play?" 

"False Nine." To the women, assuming they didn't know, he explained, "A striker that operates mid-field." 

Beside her, Anna twitched; she was a football fanatic, occasionally to the point of pub-related violence. 

Gunnar looked across the table. “Do you play any sport, Elsa?”

“No,” Elsa said dismissively. “I don’t like sport.”

This wasn’t strictly true; she loved skating and snowboarding, but she wasn’t going to encourage mutual interests or hobbies between herself and Gunnar. She was already having a hard time smiling in the appropriate places.

“Come now,” Runeard reprimanded. He spoke to Gunnar, as if she wasn’t there. “Elsa is an excellent figure skater.”

“Oh.” Gunnar’s interest was obviously piqued by how he raised his brows. “Perhaps we can go skating sometime. I used to love ice hockey.”

Of course he did. The guy seemed to be great at everything. Elsa nodded, but avoided a straight answer by taking a deep drink of wine. At this rate, she would be drunk before dinner was served. 

A foot kicked her under the table.

Anna was glaring at her; she gave a slight nod in the direction of Gunnar and Runeard and then shook her head _. You’re being too obvious_ , she was trying to say. _He's going to know._

But the conversation was almost as dry as the wine, and Elsa’s patience was ticking away by the second. She thought she could do it, she thought she could sit through the dinner and pretend to be civil, but seeing Gunnar, knowing that her grandfather was pushing the set-up, was making some part of her frustrated – a deep frustration she had never felt before.

Elsa didn’t like Gunnar. Elsa would never like someone like Gunnar.

And her grandfather would never accept that.

* * *

Maren arrived at the restaurant half an hour late, flushed and out of breath. Ingrid already looked annoyed when she sat down; she was doing that thing with her lips, sucking them in, which was something she did when she was stressed or angry. Maybe she was both. Just as Maren was about to apologise, Ingrid said, “Long time no see.”

Which, obviously, instantly infuriated Maren. She hated the snarky comments, the passive aggressive remarks. “It took a while to get here. I live on the other side of town, remember.”

“It’s actually hard to remember. I haven’t been to yours in a while.”

Maren’s nostrils flared; she tried her best to look neutral, but she wasn’t good at keeping emotion away from her face. Whatever she was thinking always showed – a gift that never stopped giving. She stayed silent, and a part of her hoped her girlfriend's bad mood meant this would be a little easier. But the tension was thick and it was making her insides squirm. 

“I’m sorry,” Ingrid said suddenly. “I don’t want to fight.”

“Me neither,” Maren confessed. 

Ingrid took a deep breath. “Let’s just… have a nice dinner. Catch up. And then we can talk about the other stuff later.”

“Yes. The other stuff. The ‘where are we going’ stuff. Later.” Maren winced; she was doing a bad job of pretending everything was normal. “Aha, it seems words are hard to talk – _speak_ today.”

Ingrid gave her a _look_ , one that told her she knew something was off. And so, they fell into their usual rapport; Ingrid talked about her life, Maren listened. Maren talked about her life, Ingrid listened. They each asked appropriate questions, and they pretended to look interested in things they already knew. After a year of being together, this was normal. Maren had never been in a relationship this long before, however, and she wasn’t sure if it was normal to feel like she was grasping at straws, trying to search for conversation topics to avoid an awkward silence. She never experienced this with Elsa, or even Anna, and she'd known them for longer. 

Some relationships had an expiration date, it seemed. 

What was there to say when it felt like there was nothing left to say?

“And you're still enjoying the tutoring?”

Maren was so distracted by trying to think of something to say that she almost missed the question. “Ah, yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“I hear good things.”

“Oh? Good. I’m glad.”

Ingrid was a social worker and Maren offered free tutoring to some of the kids who struggled with school. In the beginning, it had kept her sane from the mindless work at the shop. But then her good reputation preceded her; people – real people – started paying her to tutor their children. So, she quit the shop and tutored full-time, while offering free sessions to Ingrid’s clients. She was making money _and_ doing something that felt good, meaning she felt good about herself as well.

Was it selfish to find selfless work rewarding, thus making it selfish? Ugh, she had to stop analysing everything. Her brain felt against her sometimes, like an enemy under her skin. 

“Have you ever considered teaching?”

Maren looked up from her pasta. “Huh? Me?”

Ingrid shrugged. “You’re obviously good at one-on-one teaching. Why not scale it up?”

No, she hadn’t considered being a teacher; it sounded like one of those professional jobs, institutional jobs, that Maren didn’t believe was an option to someone like her. Tutoring she could do - but to be responsible for the education of thirty or so kids? She would definitely find a way to screw them up, to become a liability. Yet, there was something about the idea – there was something about helping children learn – that made her feel complete, as if it filled a gap she didn’t know was empty. Being there for people, helping them understand concepts... it sounded like good work. 

Maren the teacher. Miss Nattura.

Could she ever work for a corporation and feel the same selfish selflessness? 

She was _so_ overthinking this. If people understood what went on in her mind, maybe they'd understand why she hated talking about this kind of thing. How did other people go around living their lives without feeling inherent guilt, inherent imposter syndrome? Did some people genuinely think they were doing the right thing all the time, being their best self? Just thinking about it was exhausting.

“I hadn’t thought of it,” she said eventually. “But maybe it’s something I’ll look into. Sure, you know what I’m like – the future always feels like something that is yet to happen.”

She said it with humour, but when she caught Ingrid’s eye, her girlfriend didn’t look amused. Silence gripped them again, and it stretched on for miles. Maren couldn’t take it anymore; pretending everything was okay was twisting her up inside. She let go of her cutlery; the knife and fork clattered against the plate, sounding more aggressive than she intended. She had to say it. Now or never. Do or die.

“Ingrid, we need to talk.”

Ingrid crossed her arms, her lips sucked in. “I can’t believe you’re going to do this, Maren.”

“Do what?”

“You’re going to say we should break up.”

Maren blinked. Huh, she really was obvious, wasn't she? Shaking her head, she asked, “You don’t think we should break up?”

“No! What we have is good. It’s stable, it’s –”

“It’s _comfortable_ , like we’ve gotten too used to each other.”

Ingrid flinched. Visibly flinched. “And that’s a bad thing?”

“Yes – no, I don’t know. I’m just not sure I want _this_ , and I don’t think it’s fair for you, me acting like I do want this. We want different things.”

The unspoken words, now spoken, dropped like glass on concrete. Maren could see them crash in Ingrid's eyes, see the impact in front of her. Ingrid opened her mouth, closed it, and then left it hanging open. Maren's heart thudded, her stomach flipping with guilt, as she saw the moment Ingrid brushed away tears and noticed her heart was broken, like it was on the table before them and all they could do was stare. 

Then her expression shifted. Ingrid's jaw clenched and her eyes narrowed. 

The tension pulled tight and then broke. 

“Grow up, Maren.”

“What?”

“You heard me. It’s about time you grew up," Ingrid snarled, half-standing and pointing right at her. "Some of our friends are getting married, having babies, buying houses, and you’re freaking out because you’re in an adult relationship that’s too comfortable.”

They were causing a scene - people were staring - but Maren didn't care. A piece to the puzzle clicked in her mind's eye - the reason why Ingrid felt so rushed, so motivated to take their relationship further. “Oh, so you just wanted us to move on because everyone else is settling down, is that right?" She laughed, cold and bitter. "We’re only twenty-three for fuck sake!”

Ingrid towered over her. “I care about you!" she yelled. "And you only care about Elsa.”

Maren gaped. All this time, Ingrid had never implied that her friendship with Elsa had been a problem. “That’s not true – I did care for you.”

Did. Past tense. Like their relationship.

She only realised afterwards what she unduly admitted. Ingrid snapped her mouth shut and stood still, as if tossing up what to do next. Maren couldn't watch; she looked down at her hands clenching together and waited for the consequences of her honesty. 

“Whatever." She heard Ingrid snort. "I can’t believe you’d give this up because you’re fucking scared of commitment.”

And she made to walk away, but Maren put out her hand. She wanted it over, but she didn't want it to hurt. “Wait, Ingrid, I don’t want to fight, I don’t want us to –”

Ingrid leaned in close, so their faces were inches apart. “I don’t care what you want anymore, Maren." Her green eyes looked past her, no longer interested. "See you around.”

When Maren was abandoned, sitting at the table alone, the onlookers went back to their dinner after having their full of the sideshow entertainment. 

* * *

Elsa was doing everything she could to avoid Gunnar Weselton.

After dinner, the party sat in the dining room as more alcohol flowed. They were at the point in the evening where Runeard was rosy-cheeked and laughing loudly one moment, and unpredictably snappy the next. Gerda took it upon herself to keep him distracted as to avoid confrontation since they had a guest in attendance. Well-versed in their grandfather's demeanour after drinking wine, Anna and Elsa knew to keep their distance. What was difficult, however, was keeping Gunnar entertained. Any time he sat near Elsa, he tried to slide closer and strike up a topical discussion, which she either shut down or walked away from. While she knew she was being rude, right now, she didn’t care. Gunnar coming anywhere near her made her feel uncomfortable, like her limbs were made of lead; something that didn’t go amiss to the rest of the dinner party. She wasn't sure if it was because if it was because her grandfather was trying to push them together, so she felt deliberately contrary, or because she was genuinely repulsed by him. It was something she would no doubt discuss with Anna later. 

However, Elsa knew she was in trouble when Runeard asked to speak with her privately.

She followed her grandfather into the foyer of the family mansion. It was a large open space, meaning even whispered words carried along the corridors. With a hand on her elbow, he led her to the opening of the staircase and held her there, so she couldn't escape without pushing past him. He leered in close - so close, Elsa could smell the red wine on his breath. 

“You’re not giving Gunnar a chance," he said, his voice low; a challenge. 

Elsa breathed in through her nose and held it. She wasn't easily intimidated, not anymore; she was no longer a little girl. “I can’t force myself to like him, grandfather.”

His crinkled eyes furrowed. “Listen, Elsa, I’ve heard the rumours, and I’ve chosen to ignore them –”

“What rumours?”

Runeard had to hold himself back from a reprimand; he hated being interrupted. “About that girl you hang around with.”

Heart stuttering, Elsa felt her cheeks redden despite her cool exterior. “What about her?” she snapped. 

The grip on her elbow tightened. “Elsa, I don’t like your tone.”

“But I don’t know what you’re insinuating," she argued.

“You know _exactly_ what I’m saying," he growled. 

Elsa's mind raced; was it Maren's heritage or that she was a lesbian? She couldn't ask in case it highlighted one or the other. Or was it... Did Runeard know about _her_? Did he know his granddaughter, the heir to his business, was... well, what was she? There was something brewing behind those penetrating eyes, so full of retribution. He knew something, had judged something about her, that she didn't know about herself. 

Elsa's tongue felt heavy. Her hands started to shake. “Maren and I are just friends," she whispered, but it echoed off the walls, as loud as any confession. 

“Then you’ll have no problems going out with Gunnar when he asks.”

Flailing for a defence, she shook her head. “I – I don’t –”

“It’s about time you grew up, Elsa, and got your head out of the clouds," he snarled, tone rising. "Love isn’t like it is in films or books – it’s not instantaneous, it’s not full of _passion_ – you won’t see fireworks or hear a little noise in your head when you find _the one_. Most of the time, especially when you own a business or firm, marriage is about convenience. It’s about meeting someone on your level, so that you can guide each other into greatness.”

But that wasn't what Elsa had experienced; that didn't explain how she felt the way she did when Maren stroked her hair, or held her after a panic attack - the all-consuming wholeness she felt in her presence. There was nothing to gain from their interactions apart from that feeling; a mutual appreciation of respect and _love_ that she could never live without. Could she feel that feeling for someone else? Maybe, potentially. In her mind, the meaning of love was linked to the individual you shared it with. But as long as Maren was in her life, as long as she had a role to play, Elsa could never imagine feeling it so strongly for someone else. 

And, yes, some people probably did marry for convenience, wealth, security - whatever the reason. Who was she to judge them? But she couldn't, not after experiencing the alternative, even if Maren was unreachable, unattainable. 

No, her grandfather would not take it away from her. So, she tilted her chin and looked him in the eye with a challenge of her own. “You’re talking about a business deal.”

Runeard smirked. His vision jittered; the alcohol was stirring him up inside. “You sound like your father," he replied, "and look where he is now.”

It would've hurt less if he had hit her across the face. “How can you say that?” she gasped. His own son - the son she knew he still cried over in his sober mind. 

He stood taller, and the anger was purer now; ugly in its honesty. “How can you be so ungrateful – _a spoilt child_ – after everything I’ve given you; a roof over your head, the food on your table, a business, a salary – a future for your own family, your own children." He let go of her elbow to jab a finger into her chest. "Because, listen here, Elsa, as quickly as I give it, I can take it away. Never forget that."

And that was his threat since she was a teen - a threat that never got any easier to stomach. He had the monopoly on her life, on her future. Elsa had to suck it up or risk losing everything - even Anna, who was always too young to understand, who still wanted to believe Runeard Arens cared about something other than business and reputation. That was why they played this game of ego, wasn't it? 

"Now, you will go out with Gunnar, and you will give him a chance," he finished. "Do I make myself clear?”

Elsa's gaze dropped to the floor. “Is that an order?”

“Yes.”

Without waiting for a response, Runeard turned on his heel and marched into the dining hall, despite being clearly unsteady on his feet. Elsa remained rooted until he was out of sight. Then, she sat on the last stair and dropped her head to her hands, pressing her palms into her eyes to stop herself from crying. 

God, she felt so alone. Yes, she had Anna, Gerda, Maren - and she'd be incomplete without them - but there was something inside, a question unanswered, a suppressed defiance, that felt like a siren, beaming out into the darkness, searching for clues, for a connection. You weren't supposed to question things in your twenties, were you? It was supposed to be a time to adapt to your identity, to live your best life. She shouldn't feel so... lost. _If I were stronger, I'd stand up to him. If I were braver, I'd walk away from him._ She hugged her knees closer. _If I knew what it was to be in control, I'd be free._

"Elsa?"

She didn't need to look up to know it was Anna. She felt her sister sit in close and wrap her arms around her. Together, they sat on the bottom stair and listened to the quiet. 

* * *

Ingrid, in all her anger, had left Maren without paying her share of the bill. Maren inserted her card into the reader, hoping with everything she had that it would go through. It was a small victory when a green tick flashed on the screen with the word ‘accepted’.

Since she’d spent the last of her money on the food, she didn’t have enough spare to afford a taxi home. Maren wandered across the street, at a loss of what to do, feeling confused and pathetically helpless. To top it off, she’d forgotten to charge her phone before leaving, and it was now on less than five percent.

Maren could make one more phone call, and there was only one person she could call.

She typed in the number she knew off-by-heart and held it to her ear with shaking hands.

It took a moment to connect.

_Ring-ring. Ring-ring. Ring-ring._

“Come on, Elsa, pick up,” she whispered to herself.

A voice answered her. But it wasn’t the voice she wanted.

“ _We’re sorry_ ,” the robotic woman said. “ _The number you’re trying to reach cannot take your call at this time._ ”

Maren leaned against the lamppost beside her, the phone still pressed to her ear. She squeezed her eyes shut as the tears began to fall. “Please, Elsa, I need you.”


	4. 29th July 2012

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: depression, alcoholism, and implied references to self-harm.

“She is a friend of my mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order.” – Toni Morrison

* * *

_24 years old_

It had been a while since Maren had seen her.

Why? Well, there were a lot of reasons. Maren was getting ready to start teaching college. Elsa had to book a free day three weeks in advance because of her tight business schedule. The rest of Elsa’s time was taken up by Gunnar, the horrible boyfriend. Besides, Maren had commitments of her own; Yelena was getting older, she had care responsibilities there. It wasn’t fair to leave it all to Ryder.

And then there was the last time they’d seen each other.

Elsa could see right through Maren – always had. So, when Maren hit a bit of a low and was trying to hide it, to deal with it, of course Elsa noticed and tried to come to the rescue.

Some days, Maren wasn’t sure there was much left of her to bother rescuing. Other days she wasn’t sure if it was worth the effort to rescue her at all.

Alcohol had always been a bit of a crutch; it made her feel freer at university, less inhabited. She wanted the warm emptiness that came with drunkenness, she often craved it. Ingrid was a big drinker to cope with the stress of her job – but, unlike Maren, she knew the difference between time and place. She knew when to stop.

Maren didn’t.

Two months ago, Elsa had unexpectedly visited Maren’s flat after a worried call from Ryder. Maren had gone off the grid for a few days. She was unable to get out of bed; not because of physical illness, but because she didn’t see the point. All her life she had questioned where she was going, if she was going too quickly, if she’d get stuck. The thought of it, the pressure to make her life worthwhile had made her feel… worthless. The distraction of applying to teaching college had brightened her mood, given her a purpose. As soon as they accepted her application and gave her a summary of the price of education (more debt, more pressure), she questioned everything. It spiralled out of control. What if this was a waste of time? What if she couldn’t handle a classroom of kids? What if she failed at this? What if, what if, what if.

She was so tired of trying to fit in, trying to be useful in a society that viewed her as different. The other. She wanted to belong somewhere, feel good at something, be worthwhile. Since university, it had ebbed away at her until the moment it snapped.

Like an elastic band, she was pulled too tightly. She was needed back home to help Yelena, she was needed back home to help Ryder, she needed to make more money because rent was going up, she needed to apply for more student loans, she needed to find another part-time job to pay for the cost of books and learning materials. All that she needed to do, to be, overtook the amount of _her_ in her head.

In the face of not being able to successfully do anything, her mind decided not to do anything at all.

Soon, even the alcohol didn’t help. It numbed her body, but nothing could numb her mind. It was constantly thinking, tumbling through worries, feelings – so many feelings. Guilt. Guilt for not being enough for herself or those that needed her, and then guilt for not doing anything to improve. Guilt for the price of guilt. Disgust at feeling so weak, so helpless, disgust at the failure she was bound to be. Instead of being stuck in a dead-end job, which had once been her greatest fear, she was stuck in her own head.

Simply put, Maren didn’t like herself anymore.

That was how Elsa found her; in bed, an empty bottle of cheap vodka on her bedside table, and marks of damaged old wounds on her thighs.

Elsa cleaned her room, made her tea and listened. She didn’t interrupt, she didn’t react, she didn’t even offer advice. Elsa, who was riddled with anxiety since she was a child, understood the need for emotional outlets – distractions to make the internal turmoil go away. Pain. Alcohol. Sleep. Elsa helped her understand what was happening. They talked it through, they made promises.

Then Maren helped herself.

Mental illness was a one-person battle fought behind the forehead. It was a battle she had to fight alone, but it didn’t mean she had to be lonely.

Two months on, Maren couldn’t pretend she was cured. She knew Elsa would be able to pick up on any of her tells, and the thought was making her anxious. Yes, she hadn’t touched alcohol in two months. Yes, she still craved a replacement for the release it brought. Yes, she had visited her doctor, been diagnosed with depression, and had started to see a therapist. Elsa called as often as possible. They talked briefly, sometimes only a minute or two. Sometimes a text. It wasn’t the same as seeing each other, but at least it was something. It encouraged her to reach out to other people, feel more involved with life, living, the world around her.

Maren was doing everything ‘right’, but she didn’t feel right. Not yet. But one day soon, maybe. One day soon.

Elsa met her outside a coffee shop. Her hair was tied in a high ponytail and a pair of dark black glasses masked her eyes. She took them off to watch Maren approach, and a blistering smile – almost as warm as the sun – was thrown in her direction. A smile that was reserved for Maren alone.

“Hey, Mare.”

Maren reached over to press a kiss against her cheek. “Elsa. I’ve missed you.”

They sat down at their little table with rod-iron chairs and a striped parasol. It looked like it belonged to a scene in a foreign country; somewhere hot and scenic. It felt as out of place as Maren did.

Neither woman spoke for a few minutes. Maren fiddled with the bottom of her shirt, hoping Elsa would notice that it was new – ironed too. A testament to her new commitment to take better care of herself. But when she looked up, Elsa was just staring at her face, nibbling slightly on her lower lip.

“How have you been? You don’t need to talk about anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“Els, it’s you. Nothing’s off the table.”

That made the blonde glance down at her hands, eyebrows pulling together. Not being able to read the reaction, Maren overrode it with an answer. “Yeah, I’m doing – well, better. Than the last time I saw you. Two months free of alcohol. Don’t think I’ve done that since I was… sixteen?”

She laughed, hoping to appeal to the underage drinking humour that so many people used as a self-defence mechanism. Elsa didn’t seem to find it amusing.

“Has it been difficult?” she asked in a small voice.

Maren shrugged. “Yeah. I don’t miss the hangovers, but I do miss the feeling. But it’s not worth it. I’m doing better without it.”

Elsa took her hand across the table. “I’m proud of you.”

Feeling a twinge of irritation, Maren tried to stamp it out by changing the subject. She held Elsa’s hand, but loosely. “Therapy is going well, too. Looks like I’ve been suppressing a lot of things in all areas. It’s good to talk about it and get advice.”

“It feels like a weight has been lifted, doesn’t it? Saying things you’ve been holding in for a long time.”

“Yeah, exactly. It’s helping. I still… struggle. With emotions and intrusive thoughts up here” – Maren tapped her forehead – “but it’s not going to get better overnight, and I’m willing to work on it. I couldn’t say that before.”

It was at that moment Maren realised that Elsa was avoiding eye contact. She was looking at Maren’s face, the table, their hands, the background – but never the eyes. Then there were her words; subdued, careful. They held meaning yet lacked the oomph Maren was used to.

“Are you okay?”

Elsa started. She dropped Maren’s hand and returned them under the table. “Yes. Sorry.” Shaking her head, she asked, “When do you start teaching college?”

Maren went along with it, but kept a closer eye on her. “The end of next month.”

“That’s exciting.”

“Yeah. It’s –”

“And what about your family?”

Okay. Something was wrong. Maren waited for a moment, unsure how to proceed. Should she ask if Elsa was okay again? What if she didn’t want to talk about it? Whenever Elsa was pushed, she reverted deeper into her shell. But how was it fair if Elsa checked up on Maren but Maren couldn’t check up on Elsa? Weren’t they, as best friends, supposed to be helping each other?

“Yelena’s still having mobility problems. We’re working on moving her into a bungalow so she can live somewhere without stairs.” She watched as Elsa nodded, a frown tugging her lips. Maren heaved a sigh, patience unusually thin. “Listen, Elsa, what’s wrong? I can tell something has happened.”

Elsa’s eyes widened as she met Maren’s stare for the first time. A nerve in her cheek twitched and for a heart-breaking moment, Maren thought she was going to cry.

“I’m so sorry,” she gushed. “I wanted to see you – I’ve wanted to see you for so long. I want to listen; I want us to talk properly. But I…” her blue eyes filled with tears. “I’m so –”

She cut herself off and looked to the side, like she was angry at herself.

Maren leaned in. Softly, she said, “Elsa, it’s okay. I’m here if you want to talk about it.”

“I’m not sure I can,” she croaked.

“You don’t have to. It might make you feel better, but you don’t have to.”

“I…” Elsa trailed as a single tear leaked down her cheek. She brushed it away with the back of her hand and took a shuddering breath. “My grandfather is dying.”

Oh. Maren sat back in her chair, rigid. She didn’t know what to expect, but it hadn’t been that. She searched for the right thing to say – sympathy? Condolences? Over the past few months, during their brief phone calls, they hadn’t talked about Elsa much. Maren assumed it was because all she did was work now and there was nothing new to say.

She decided to ask for more. “You haven’t seen him since…?”

“Since Christmas.” Elsa amended with a wince, “Since the argument. Anna told me. He received the diagnosis last week.”

Maren remembered the impact of the argument last Christmas; Elsa had phoned her in tears and then asked to spend the next few days with her. Over twenty years of resentment had poured out over the turkey and wine, triggered by Runeard Arens suggesting an engagement between Elsa and Gunnar.

Elsa didn’t like to talk about Gunnar, but Maren knew she was only with him because it kept her grandfather out of her life – out of her business. It was some sick power play on Runeard’s behalf, and in the beginning, Maren had been angry at Elsa too for going along with it.

The two women were quiet again. Maren chewed on the inside of her cheek, musing Elsa’s words. _Anna told me_. “He hasn’t contacted you?” she asked.

Elsa sighed. Closing her eyes, she replied, “He has.”

“What did he say?”

“He invited me for lunch. Today.”

Maren’s heart dropped. “Did you reply?”

“No. Besides, we’re spending the –”

“Elsa,” Maren warned. She wasn’t going to stand in the way, be an excuse. “Is this what you want?”

_This_. Going on as if it was okay, when it was clearly taking a toll. _This_. Ignoring him, not closing the door on a part of her life she’ll never be able to revisit. Maren hadn’t seen Elsa in a while, but they’d have time. Some other day, they’d have plenty of time.

“I don’t know.” Elsa blinked hard, forcing her tears down. “I – I’m still so angry at him. But this is so sudden.” She looked ashamed. “I feel like I owe him something I can’t give him.”

Maren scoffed. “You don’t owe him anything, after all he’s done to you.”

“I know, but I can’t change the way I feel.” In almost a whisper, she admitted, “This might be my last chance to see him.”

Even at the very end, he still used leverage over her. Maren felt righteous anger burning in her stomach, but when she looked back at Elsa and how small, how upset, she looked, it doused the flames in water. Maybe it wasn’t the time for anger. Maybe it was the time for acceptance.

“What does Gunnar think?” Maren asked.

Elsa brushed it off with a shrug. “He doesn’t care.”

No, Maren reminded herself, it wasn’t the time for anger. If her own boyfriend couldn’t help, then it was Maren’s job to step in. “You know what I think?”

“What?”

The way Elsa looked at her, eyes wide and hopeful, made Maren shiver. She leaned in again, elbows on the table. “I think you should see him. Maybe you owe it to yourself – the closure. I know you, Elsa. It would tear you up inside knowing you never sad goodbye, even if the bridges between the two of you are well and truly burned. Do it for yourself, if not for him.”

Elsa wiped away another tear. “You think?”

“Yeah.” Maren nodded slightly. “It’s what I would do, not that it matters.”

Giving a firm, humourless laugh, she replied, “It matters more than you know.”

Maren tried her best not to sigh. When had life become so difficult? So exhausting? Some days felt like everything was a huge life-impacting decision, while other times she went to work, watched tv and slept to do it all over again. And all she wanted to do was spend quality time with her best friend.

“Go to him,” Maren encouraged. “Don’t take his shit but go to him.”

“Thank you, Maren.”

As Elsa stood up, she put on her sunglasses to hide her red eyes and her hand brushed the top of Maren’s head. She pressed a long kiss to brunette’s forehead, her fingers curling. Maren rested her own hand on top of them, sinking into the feeling of having her close.

She had to go, and she had to let her. They all had battles they had to fight alone.

* * *

When Elsa arrived at the family mansion, she stood in the gravelled drive and stared up at the looming house as if it were a mortal foe she had to defeat.

The door opened before she reached the threshold. Gerda’s lined face greeted her with a delicate smile that reached her crinkled eyes. In typical Gerda fashion, she accepted Elsa into a warm embrace, no questions asked.

“No Anna?” Elsa muttered into her shoulder.

“She’s with Kristoff today.” Gerda pulled away. “I thought I’d give her a break.”

Guilt swam in Elsa’s chest. Anna had been taking care of their grandfather while finishing her last year at university. Leaving Anna to deal with it alone reminded Elsa of those years they’d been separated by boarding school. Anna assured her countless times that it was fine, she understood why Elsa didn’t want anything to do with him, but despite her protests, it caused a void between them. It was the first time they’d looked at something they shared and had different opinions.

Elsa’s lip wobbled as she tried to apologise. “Gerda, I’m so sorry for –”

Gerda cut her off by raising her hand in the air. “Elsa, I understand. We all do. I think even – well, you’ll see.” She looked into the sunroom and asked, “Would you like to see him now?”

He was sitting on the veranda on a white cushioned chair. His hair was greyer and thinner than the last time she’d seen him. The lack of red made him look faded. There wasn’t a single tone of colour visible on his face. She knew he’d heard her come in, but he didn’t look around. His beady eyes only rested on her when she sat on the bench beside him, looking out at the garden.

She couldn’t meet his gaze. “Grandfather.”

“Elsa. You came.”

He didn’t sound happy, he sounded interested. Curious.

“I did,” she replied flatly.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him look around. “Gunnar isn’t with you?”

“He’s working.”

“It’s a Sunday,” he observed. “Good man. Hard worker.” A pause. “No proposal yet?”

“No.” An unintentional scowl rested on her face. She started to regret coming.

“Disappointing. I would’ve liked to have seen – before I go – but, no matter.”

The reality of the situation hit again, this time harder than with Maren. This was, quite possibly, the last time she would see, chat, or be in the presence of a parental figure. Her heart clenched at the thought, and a subtle sickness flipped her stomach.

How this conversation goes will plague her the rest of her days.

“How are you?” she asked, extending an olive branch.

“Old and failing.” He grunted as he repositioned himself. “I’d much rather hear about you. About the business.” His tone lightened. “Kai reports to me once a week. He says you’re doing well.”

She wasn’t going to deny it. “Yes.”

“Is that all you have to say?”

She wasn’t going to go into details. “It is.”

“Very well.” Clearing his throat, he went on, “I’m not expecting an apology, by the way.” She met his eyes then and felt them rake over her. “I suppose you think I should give one. In that way, you’re like your father.” She saw his shoulders sag, his eyebrows furrow. “I never stopped loving him, you know. I say things I shouldn’t about him, about your mother. But I miss him.” His hand gripped the cushion underneath him. “I resent him for leaving me – going before me. No parent should have to bury their child.”

Elsa had empathy – sometimes she felt things too much. She couldn’t imagine what it felt like to lose a child, but she knew what it felt like to lose both of her parents. She knew the added pain of hearing only bad things about them – things that ruined the few memories she had left. There was a healthy way of coping with loss, and Runeard had made their loss so much worse. So, yes, she felt for him. But no, she couldn’t forget how he’d ruined their memory.

“I miss them both,” she pointed out, rather coldly.

Runeard glazed over that; he had a lot to say, it seemed, directly related to their argument at Christmas. “And you were right; it shouldn’t be any of my business who you – _associate_ yourself with. I have been tough on you. I haven’t been what you needed because what you needed is dead. I didn’t want to replace it.”

Once upon ago, this would’ve worked. It was more than he’d ever given her. But he always found a way to nestle in her head, jumble her thoughts, manipulate her true emotions. If this was to be their last conversation, she wouldn’t let that happen.

“Is this your idea of an apology?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“No – I’m not giving one,” it was snapped, but his throat was hoarse. “But these are my thoughts – my last thoughts, as it were.” He broke their eye contact then to look outside. “I know what you think of me, Elsa, you made it clear during your last visit at Christmas. But just know – just know I gave you the one thing that meant the most to me.”

“Your business?”

“My power.”

Elsa flinched. “I didn’t ask for it.”

“No, you didn’t. People rarely ask for power – they seek it out. That was the main difference between you and I.” She searched his words for a hint of any insult and found none. “But now, after our disagreement, I can’t help worrying about the future – the one without me in it.” He looked at the ground. “Do you plan to stay with Gunnar?”

Elsa stiffened. “I can’t answer that.”

It was true; she couldn’t. Her relationship with Gunnar could be described as ‘not all bad’, which wasn’t ideal. He was moody, bossy, emotionally unavailable. Elsa thought they brought the worse out in each other. But there was a tiny part of her that held onto it because she liked the idea of having a relationship. Not with Gunnar, but there was no one else right now.

She was lonely, and this was a product of her loneliness. She didn’t love him – she didn’t even like him all that much. When Runeard was gone, and there was no one looking over her shoulder, would she still stay with him?

Well, Elsa knew the answer to that but she wasn’t going to say it.

Runeard hesitated before his next words. “What I said to you before about a business marriage – arrangements can be had, Elsa. On both sides, behind the scenes. As long as you keep up appearances on the outside; a family, a husband, a business partner – it doesn’t matter if you pursue other avenues that make you happy.”

And this is what it call came back to: appearances. Her grandfather only cared about what people thought of Elsa and her worth through attachments, keeping up the successful image he’d done to impress the people around him.

Elsa didn’t care about that. She didn’t care about any of it, and here he was, trying to get into her head again. She partially stood from the bench. “Grandfather, we talked about this, and I –”

“You’re right,” he said, voice booming. “It’s all been said before, hasn’t it?”

She slowly sat down again. He had recognised her boundaries this time – perhaps what she’d said to him before had reached an unknowable part of his design. They sat in silence. Elsa’s gaze flicked between the garden and his hands; she’d never noticed how veined they were before, hold they held signs of age she couldn’t see on the rest of him. This man was her father’s father. She was the heir to his business, the proof of his success as a businessman, a husband and a father. A grandfather. And in that moment she wondered if he’d led a fulfilled life – if the house, the family, the business was, just as he’d said, for show. To impress.

“Were you happy?” she asked, staring back at the rosebush in it’s half-bloom.

He waited for a loud lorry to pass on the main road. “Yes.”

She nodded to herself. “Can you accept…” the words were heavy in her mouth, heavy in her heart, “that I find happiness in different things than you do?”

The chair creaked. Elsa counted the passing heartbeats as she waited for his answer.

“No, because I don’t want you to,” he said simply. “But your father and your –” he tried to keep his tone neutral “– mother, they would want you to be happy. Whatever form that takes.”

There it was then – the line in the sand _. You’ll never have my blessing, but you would’ve had your mother and father’s._ Could she live with that? It was as good as she could’ve hoped for and, one day, it might seem like a smaller issue. She might even look back and think of it as a compromise.

“Will you stay?” he asked.

Elsa looked back at him, at the green eyes of her father. They weren’t similar except from the colour, but she accepted them for what they were – a substitute. Unlike him, she could accept when things were different, when things weren’t what you wanted.

“Will it make you happy?” she replied, settling into the bench.

They could sit together in tolerant silence for hours, if that’s what he wanted. Gerda would bring them tea and then Elsa would depart, mourning a piece of her life she couldn’t change, and learning a valuable lesson; searching for acceptance wasn’t enough. If she accepted herself, if she had people that cared who accepted her too, then she was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this will get happier... not in the next chapter, but soon! 
> 
> A note on the content: indigenous people tend to have higher than average mental health problems, and often go undiagnosed because of the social, political and educational structures that fail to support them. If you or anyone you know is affected by the topics discussed by the characters in this chapter, you should ask for advice from your doctor, local support group or reach out to a friend. More people care than you may realise. 
> 
> Comments and kudos feed my ego, and boy, it's hungry. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Cx.


	5. 29th July 2013

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: physical abuse, violence, suicide ideation, threats and homophobic language.

“There is one friend in the life of each of us who seems not a separate person, however dear and beloved, but an expansion, an interpretation, of one's self, the very meaning of one's soul.” – Edith Wharton 

* * *

_25 years old_

Elsa sat in Maren’s car, watching as the raindrops rolled down the pane.

They were parked outside her old apartment; the one, up until two months ago, she’d shared with Gunnar. Elsa and Gunnar weren’t together, not anymore. They hadn’t been together for a long time. Over the past year, they’d been in an on and off relationship of sorts. They’d both seen other people, been other places. Elsa didn’t know why, in the beginning, she kept going back. Her grandfather had died last August and with him gone, she had no obligation to Gunnar. But for some reason, he’d stuck in her head. She no longer knew what she liked, what she disliked – _who_ she liked. _Who_ she disliked. She moved in with him, she moved out, she moved back in again. Out _again_. He would call her up crying in the middle of the night, begging for another chance, and Elsa didn’t know how to say no. Who else would want her? All she did was work, sleep and eat. She barely had time for anything else.

Then, two months ago, something shifted.

Gunnar had come home drunk after work. They’d gotten into an argument, a nasty one. He had raised his hand as if to hit her, and Elsa left. Never to return. She abandoned her stuff, her clothes, even the keys to her car. She could tolerate the emptiness he gave her, the loneliness, but she would never tolerate anything physical. Elsa knew the warning signs – she’d preached the same song to Anna about Hans – and she had the means to walk away without looking back. Some people weren’t that lucky, some people didn’t have a choice.

He had called her every day since, crying and begging – threatening. _I can’t live without you_ , he’d cry _. I’ll kill myself if you go._

Did he have any idea what saying something like that does to someone?

Maren was there for her, like she always was. Anna leant an ear and offered nothing but support. It took two months, but Elsa was ready to collect her things from Gunnar’s apartment. She was ready to close the door on him for good.

Well – there was one other thing. A big thing. There was something she needed to tell him, something she hadn’t told anyone yet.

“So, you’re going to go in there. Talk to him. Get your things. Leave,” Maren repeated for the fiftieth time. “And if you need help –”

“– you’re outside waiting for me,” Elsa finished for her, smiling. “What would I do without you, hm?”

Maren smirked. “You keep saying that and yet you still haven’t brought me on that five-star holiday to the Bahamas.”

Elsa shook her head. “I’m a terrible friend.” She took a deep shaky breath that rattled her chest. Closing her eyes, she reached over to take the brunette’s hand. “Maren, I need to talk to you after this. And I don’t want – I know I don’t need to ask, but please. Don’t judge me.”

“Hey.” Maren squeezed her hand. “I’ll never judge you. Apart from when you order pineapple pizza.”

Elsa let out an unwilling laugh. Both women sobered up when it tapered away, and the reality of the situation stood in their wake. Elsa reached for the door. “Okay. Here I go.”

“I’m here,” Maren encouraged. She looked ready to take on an army.

Elsa gave her one last fleeting glance before stepping out of the car.

She’d called in advance, so Gunnar knew she was coming.

He left the door open for her. She rapped before going in anyway.

Gunnar was sitting on the sofa, empty tins of beer on the coffee table. One was in his hand, half-crushed. Elsa eyed it – and him – warily. His bleary eyes raked over her, pierced through her. Grunting in acknowledgement, he pointed in the corner of the room, where her stuff was piled up. Some of it was smashed and broken.

Elsa bit her tongue and tried to swallow her frustration.

“You’re so desperate to leave, so leave,” he barked. “Take your shit and go.”

“Gunnar,” she started tentatively. “I think you need help.”

“It’s not your business anymore, what do you care?”

Elsa frowned. Subconsciously, her hand flitted to her stomach. “There’s something… something I need to tell you. It doesn’t change anything. But…”

He finished the remaining dregs of the beer and threw it with the others. He couldn’t even look at her. “What?”

This was it. No going back.

There was no going back for a while now.

* * *

Maren was tense as she waited outside. Her eyes kept flicking to the window of Gunnar’s apartment. It felt like someone was twisting a knife in her chest. She had a feeling something was off, an intuition she couldn’t explain.

She’d give it ten more minutes and then she’d see if Elsa was okay.

Elsa had been off for the past few months – she’d been subdued, more tearful, since the death of her grandfather, but this was different. Something was heavy on her mind, Maren could see it in how she cradled her arms around herself, how she flinched at sudden movements or noises. Elsa was like a scared animal, however; the more you pushed her for an answer, the more she retreated into her shell. Maren would have to wait her turn, and she’d be ready for the fall when it happened.

Now that she was graduating from teaching college, the world looked simultaneously scarier and more hopeful than it had a year ago. A year ago, she’d been a mess of insecurities, raging a war against herself. She’d made it to the other side of the teaching degree with more confidence in her abilities and the absolute certainty that this was what she wanted for herself. To be a teacher.

In September she would start her training, and the year after that she’d (hopefully) be fully qualified and employed somewhere, teaching humanities to teenagers. Before, she felt opposed to the idea of the future. Now, she couldn’t wait to seize it.

Yes, she still battled with herself. Mental health was a continuous journey, and she took the bad days with the good. But she felt… settled. Fuller than she had ever felt.

But she’d feel a hell of a lot better if Elsa hurried up.

Ten minutes had passed, so Maren got out of the car and headed up to the apartment. She kept her keys in her fist in an attempt to squeeze her trepidation out of something. Maren had never liked Gunnar, and, quite frankly, didn’t know why Elsa kept him around for so long. During the time Elsa had broken up with him, got back together, moved in, and broken up again (repeat the process five times), Maren had a number of casual relationships. Nothing was as long or as intense as Ingrid. No, she wasn’t ready for that sort of thing. But she’d had fun and it was liberating. It was whatever. It wasn’t… what she truly wanted and that was fine. Yeah. For now, that was fine.

As she walked along the hall, she heard raised voices. There was a _clang_ , a _bang_ , and then a heavy thud.

Maren ran.

The door was open, giving her a perfect view. Gunnar had Elsa pinned to the far wall, his hand clasped around her jaw. Tears were streaming down her face as she tried to push him away. He was yelling in her face, but Maren’s mind couldn’t connect the dots. It didn’t matter what he was saying – it didn’t matter –

Rage like nothing she had ever felt before coursed through her.

Before Maren could register what she was doing, she realised she had grabbed Gunnar’s wide shoulders and flung him to the ground. Her hand came up, the one holding the keys, and her fist punched him around the face.

Blood splattered on the wall.

Maren jerked him by the collar of his shirt, towering over him, her mouth so close to his bloody face that he was sure to feel the heat of her breath. “You keep your filthy fucking hands off her, okay?”

It was low, a growl.

It didn’t sound like her.

Gunnar’s eyes were wide with fear, but he still managed to scoff and spit blood at her feet. His gaze landed on Elsa over her shoulder. “Trust you to get your dyke to defend you.” He looked back at Maren. “Vermin.”

Maren’s hand came back again, but something held her back. Not something, _someone_ – Elsa. She put her hand over Maren’s and helped her lower it. She brushed her fingers over her bloody knuckles. “Mare, don’t. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

Gunnar took the opportunity to pull out of Maren’s grip. He stood up, legs buckling, and straightened his shirt. There was a deep cut across his cheek where one of the keys had dug into his skin. Maren felt a sick sense of pride.

Elsa gently tugged her towards the door. Maren stopped, looked back. “What about your stuff?”

“Leave it,” she muttered. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes kept leaking. “I’ve gone this long without it.”

Gunnar laughed as he sat down on the sofa, making both women turn around. “Fuck you,” he croaked. His voice was suddenly rough, cracking. “Guess you’re stuck with a little bit of me forever.”

Elsa’s eyes were still wide. Her lip wobbled when she took Maren’s hand and led the way out of the apartment. They walked in silence to the car; Maren stealing glances at the blonde, searching for an answer. Once inside, Maren locked the doors and started the engine, and Elsa broke down.

“I told him. I told him. I told him,” she repeated between sobs, her face buried in her hands. Maren, for once, didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know what to do. Told him what? What had happened? She tried to focus on the road, focus on getting them back to her flat where they could decompress and process.

“I’m sorry he said those things to you,” Elsa said.

Maren sighed. She’d been called worse – racist stuff, homophobic slurs, they weren’t new to her. They still hurt, of course they did, but they didn’t affect her like they once had. If anything, it told her more about the person saying them and nothing new about herself. What bothered her more was the image of Gunnar, his hands on Elsa. As much as she tried to blink it away, it clung to the back of her eyelids. Then the blood and her… rage.

She shivered. “At least we never need to see him again,” she muttered, glancing to the left to see Elsa’s reaction. The blonde winced, fresh tears springing to her eyes. She shook her head slowly. Maren gulped, heart banging against her ribs. This was wrong.

“Elsa?”

There was something about her reaction that made Maren pull over. She stopped the car with the handbrake, a nasty habit she’d picked up. The car groaned in protest. She faced her best friend and continued her search for answers in the angry red blotches on her cheeks, in the flow of salty tears from her watery blue eyes.

“Mare, I need to – I need to tell you something,” Elsa whispered. She met Maren’s gaze, and she’d never looked so torn up inside. Her breaths were short gasps and her hands trembled. The words didn't want to present themselves. With every passing second, Elsa looked more fragile, more insecure. 

She held her breath. 

Maren watched, silently, still holding onto the handbrake. Her knuckles were white and bloody, and it occurred to her they might bruise. It didn't matter. She was hanging onto Elsa's wavering stare. 

She wasn't ready. 

“I’m pregnant.”

The world slowed. The passing traffic travelled at lightspeed, the clouds were running through the grey sky, but inside the car, this shared moment between them, was in slow motion.

Maren’s mind grasped at straws. Elsa. Pregnant. Her heartbeat stuttered, tried to catch up with the news. What it meant. What did it mean? Elsa was – should she feel happy? Sad? Confused? Shocked? Right now, she was scared. Pregnancy was frightening, dangerous – life-changing. Elsa. Pregnant. The two thoughts didn't blend in her mind, they were like oil and water. Despite everything she wanted to ask, there was one thing she wanted to know above all else. 

Maren closed her eyes, dreading the answer. “Please, please, tell me it’s not Gunnar’s,” she muttered.

She knew Elsa wasn’t the type to have one-night stands or be overly reckless with her health. She already knew the answer.

“It is,” Elsa replied, resolved. Maren looked at her, heart breaking with her. “What am I going to do?”

Each breath rattled her chest, but she had no more tears left to cry. Maren reached for her and pulled her into an enveloping hug. She rested a hand on her head and another on the small of her back. Nothing else mattered, it was just the two of them. It was always the two of them. She held on for dear life, as if clinging to the last piece of the universe. 

“How far along?”

“Three months.”

She could only imagine what Elsa must be feeling right now. A cocktail of confusion, fear, and anxiety. Loneliness. The thought of being a single mother, doing this alone… Maren pulled back and held Elsa’s face in her hands.

“Listen, Els, no matter what you decide, I’m going to be by your side, okay? You know Anna will be. Anything you need, we’ll be there. You won’t be alone, you’ll never be alone. You have me, you have Gerda, you have Anna and her nerdy boyfriend Christopher.”

Elsa blinked, letting out a soft chuckle. “ _Kristoff_. Mare, seriously, they’ve been going out for two years.”

Maren knew that of course, she was just trying to lighten the mood. “They have? Wow.” She shared a cheeky grin before frowning again. “Point is, he’s not going anywhere. None of us are. You have our support, unconditionally. We love, care, and cherish you.” Damn it, she could feel her own tears starting. Her own life changing. “Always.”

If she could tattoo it on her forehead to make it go in, she would. If she could give Elsa just a piece – one tiny fragment – of all that she meant to her in the world, she would. If she could sweep her up in a huge blanket and protect her from harm, she would. This was something Elsa was going through alone – but not on her own. Never on her own.

They stayed like that for some time, before untangling themselves from one another. Elsa wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She leaned her head against the chair and stared past the roof of the car, through the little window, where the rain splattered from the crying sky.

Still holding onto Maren’s hand, she said to herself for the first time, as if only now believing it, “I’m going to be a mum.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say that this is the last chapter of properly ~intense~ emotional angst and drama. The next few chapters are going to be much more enjoyable, promise!
> 
> Thank you for reading, comments/kudos make me smile! 
> 
> Cx.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is going to follow the concept of David Nicholls' novel 'One Day', where we catch up with the characters on the same day each year. In this case, it's St. Olaf's Day (an observed day in Norway) on the 29th July every year. We will revisit Elsa and Maren's first day together at a... later time.
> 
> Please note: akin to the original One Day, this story isn't going to be the happiest. It's going to deal with tough topics around the art that is growing up. Where anything is triggering or sensitive, I will provide a warning. But fear not! It's not all doom and gloom, and I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Kudos/Comments are inspiring, so please share your thoughts if you have any.
> 
> Cx.


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